by Kim Karr
“Come on,” I pleaded to her back. “You like it when I call you that. I know you do.”
Or I thought she did.
Maybe not?
That didn’t make her turn around. However, it did seem to stop her from doing any work. She let her fingers hover over the keypad, but she didn’t type anything. Then again, she didn’t say anything, either.
“Gillian,” I groveled, this time a little rougher, a little more raspy. Not only did I not like this silent treatment, I didn’t like anything about this current situation.
In less than a heartbeat, she twirled back around and glared in my direction. With a thump, she got to her feet and strode over to me. “Stop whatever this is you’re doing.”
Understanding the need to get it out, I stood there and gave her time to finish. I knew she wasn’t done. I could tell.
She poked my chest with her finger hard enough that I had to lean back. “I’m not going to play games with you, Lucas. I don’t like them. I’m sure you’re used to getting any girl you want, whenever you want, but I won’t be one of them.”
I blinked, not expecting this rant. “I don’t want you to be.”
Now she was waving her finger at me. “Then stop thinking you can come in and out of my life when it suits you because I have news for you—you can’t. Do you understand me?”
I stood where I was, an odd ache in my chest.
Her hand dropped to her side. Clearly, she was finished.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice soft.
With a shrug, she took a step back. “That’s great. I feel so much better now. I think this conversation is over. You should go. It’s almost time for dinner.”
A quick glance at the clock told me I had a few minutes. “Gillian, I’m not trying to hurt you. It’s just,” I stopped. Ran a hand through my hair, and grouped my thoughts. “It’s just I . . . don’t know how to say it . . . we can’t be together. We just can’t.”
She sighed and looked away. “You don’t want to jeopardize your career. I get it, Lucas, and I don’t blame you. I just think you could have talked to me about our situation before you shut me out the way you did. That’s all. Now please go.”
I shook my head. I hated this. She had it wrong, or at least most of it. I moved a little closer and lifted her chin. “Gillian, listen to me.”
Again, she glanced away.
“Please.”
Her piercing gaze found mine.
“I’m not good at any of this, and it seemed like letting it go was better than trying to put my feelings into words.”
“Well, it wasn’t.”
“I get that.”
“Good,” she said. “Now, will you please go?”
I shook my head. “No, I won’t. I want you to understand where I’m coming from.”
She looked at me, but said nothing. I took that as a green light.
“Sure, my career is part of the reason I know I should stay away from you,” I said. “The fact that your father has the power to make it or break it is also most definitely a factor that I have to take into consideration. But there’s so much more to us. To the reasons we should stay apart.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“Like your reputation,” I blurted out. “It’s at stake every time you’re with me. All it takes is one affair with a player to get out, and then all the guys will think . . . well you know what they’ll think.”
“No, what will they think? That I’m easy, that I’m loose, that I’m an easy score? Is that what you mean?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, “and I won’t have that hanging over your head. Whether you’re here or not, I don’t want that for you.”
She crossed her arms. “Is that what you think about me?”
“No!” I said adamantly. “Not at all.”
“If you’re worried about me, you don’t have to be. I can take care of myself, and my own reputation. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
Her words sounded tough, but the quiver of her bottom lip gave away the fact she was upset, and I hated that I was the cause of her sorrow. “Believe me,” I said, taking my voice down a notch. “I know you can.”
“Then it looks like we have nothing else to discuss.” She unwrapped her arms from her body, and then pivoted on her toe in the direction of the open door.
I reached for her and tugged her to me. “I don’t want to want you,” I breathed, my mouth hovering just centimeters from hers.
She tried to pull away, but not whole heartedly. If she wanted me to let her go, I would have, but I knew she didn’t. “Then stop,” she sighed.
I took her face in my hands. “I can’t. I don’t know how to.”
And I really wished I did.
“Neither do I,” she whispered.
Unable to stop myself, I crashed my lips to hers and drove my tongue into her mouth to retrace every inch that I had explored days ago.
Gillian pushed herself against me and placed her thigh between my legs. I thought I might go out of my mind the minute she nudged upward. In the position she was in there was no doubt she could feel me getting hard, which was fine by me because I wanted her to really understand what she did to me.
Without another thought, I was moving her hand to the bulge in my pants. “Feel this,” I muttered into her mouth.
The hoarse, low raspy noise she made was one I knew I would remember for a very long time.
I moved my mouth down her throat. “That’s what you do to me every single time you look at me the way you do. Remember how my hard cock feels under your fingertips the next time you question what it is I’m feeling toward you.”
Her hand inched up the fabric of my sweats until it settled on the waistband. “I don’t think I can ever forget it, even if I wanted to.”
I groaned out loud when she pushed her hands inside my sweatpants. There was a really good chance I would get lost in the moment as soon as her fingers found purchase on my more than ready cock, and that wasn’t a good idea.
Despite knowing this, somehow our mouths were fused together again. Her tongue slid along mine as her fingers traveled a little further down. She was close, so close to having me in her grasp, and I knew if she did, I would never be able to stop her.
I wouldn’t want to.
“Not here,” I somehow managed to reason. And then I pulled back and cupped my hands in her hair to lift her face toward me. “I want your touch too much. I have been aching for you. I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”
“Lucas,” she moaned. “I don’t want to stop.”
“Me either, but here isn’t right. Sunday night is our first night off. We’ll meet somewhere. It will be just you and me, and no one will know where we are.”
Her eyes were wide when she spoke. “But that’s three nights away. Come to my room tonight.”
I shook my head. “The first time I have you I don’t want to have to worry about how much noise we make or who might be outside the door.”
Her mouth twisted in thought. “You have a point. But where are we going to go?”
Getting some distance seemed like a good idea, so I stepped back and leaned against the counter, propping one of my Adidas on the lower cabinet. “I know a place,” I grinned.
Her eyes glittered with instant interest. “A place?”
“Well, I don’t personally know of the place,” I confessed. “But I heard my roommate making plans with one of his girls to meet at a historic hotel in the village, or rather I heard him agree to meet her there after he suggested Motel 8.”
She lifted a brow. “Your roommate has girls? As in more than one?”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Hey, it’s not my business.”
“Why do all of the unmarried players have to have harems?”
Seriously, I had to laugh. “Harems? Ummm . . . I honestly have no idea.”
Her eyes narrowed on me. “Do you have a harem?”
“Me?” I pointed a finger to myself. “That’s
pretty funny.”
“Why not? Girls don’t interest you?”
I straightened. “I think you already know they do.”
“Then why is it funny?”
“Because I don’t . . .” Hmmm . . . I wasn’t sure how to say it without sounding callous.
She cut me off before I could fully explain. “How many girls do you have on speed dial?”
“None.”
She raised her hand, palm up. “Let me see your phone.”
I shrugged and pulled it from my pocket. Once I unlocked it, I handed it to her. “Have at it.”
Gillian pressed the favorites button and her eyes scanned the short list. “Who’s Tess?” she asked with speculation.
“She’s my sister-in-law.”
She didn’t look convinced.
I took my phone and brought up a recent photo and then handed my phone back to her. “That’s her with my brother and their kids, Nicky and Sophie.”
The smile on her face when she saw the picture made my heart beat a little faster and I wasn’t entirely comfortable with that. “They look so happy.”
“They are,” I said, and I might have sounded a little wistful, but I had no idea why. “And you didn’t say anything about the name above hers.”
Gillian’s smile grew wider. “I saw it.”
“Give it to me,” I said putting my hand out again. “I can change the name right now from Strawberry Fields to—”
She set the phone on the counter. “Don’t do that.”
So yeah, I wore an obnoxiously smug smirk. “But you said you didn’t want me to call you that.”
“I never said that. I said my name is Gillian. Which it is.”
“So I can call you that?”
She shrugged, and I took that as a yes.
“Just so you know,” I said, “when you asked me if I had a harem and I laughed, it was because I’ve never found much use for girls, other than sex that is.”
“Women,” she corrected. “At our age I think the term women is more appropriate, and I’m not exactly sure how to take that comment, or what it even means.”
“It means football has been my life, and since girls, women, whatever, don’t play, I’ve never been inclined to stick around.”
“I play,” she said, sounding offended.
My lips twitched in amusement. “Yes, I’m sure you do, and I’m also certain you’re pretty good at it. But if you’d let me finish, what I’m trying to say is other than my sister-in-law, I’ve never really had a meaningful conversation with a woman . . . until you.”
Those green eyes glittered with an emotion I couldn’t quite define, and for a moment the sassy, full of fire woman standing in front of me was speechless.
Admitting that should have made me look arrogant and uncaring, but hell, I was, so I didn’t let it bother me. It felt good to say it out loud. Confess something I had never realized about myself until her.
All of this taking place right now though meant I was going to move forward. That I was Adam and I would be giving into Eve’s temptation.
That I would take a bite of the forbidden fruit standing in front me. And God help me, I hoped I wasn’t going to burn in hell because of it.
Or in the context of my world . . . lose my position on the team.
I glanced back up at the clock. “Shit, I have to go.”
Her head twisted to look at the time. “You better hurry,” she said, swatting my ass as I rushed passed her.
Oh, no, that was not going unaddressed. I whirled around and took her in my arms. “Extra-low fives are for the field, between players. A girl should kiss a guy properly when saying goodbye,” I breathed really close to her mouth.
When she brought her lips to mine, I pulled away, and strutted backwards. “Meet me in our spot on the bridge at ten.”
Gillian’s mouth was hanging wide open in protest. “But you just said you wanted to wait until Sunday?”
“I do, to be inside you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t start the foreplay early.”
That made her smile and blush.
“Oh, and have those lips ready,” I winked. “I want that proper kiss.”
She smiled even wider. “You really are too much, Carrington.”
She had no idea how much I was, but then again . . . neither did I.
BUMP AND RUN
Gillian
THIS WAS A day I had dreaded for as long as I could remember, but this year I didn’t dislike it as much as I usually did.
No, this year, for the first time, I had a reason not to dislike it.
I had Lucas.
The end of the first two weeks of training camp marked the last of the private field time. Tomorrow practices would be open to the public.
Fans in the stands weren’t the bad part—the bad part was that opening practices to the public meant the cheerleaders had arrived to put some pep in everyone’s step.
And I mean everyone’s step.
The single players were already foaming at the mouth, and the girls were only just unloading their stuff from the bus.
Like the players, the cheerleaders surrendered their car keys at Soldier Field and took a bus down here.
My father lived in a very calibrated world. One where each second of every day had a purpose. Therefore, no one under his watch needed his or her own set of wheels. There were very few exceptions to this rule.
Since it was Sunday, and there had been another scrimmage my father wasn’t too pleased with, he’d called practice early.
In truth, the game was unbelievable, but that was my father for you, always striving for something better. I didn’t blame him, of course. This was his life, after all. Every day was the same—get up at five and go for a run, eat breakfast, watch some film, lead the eight a.m. meeting, more coaching, practice, workouts. His schedule was just as grueling as the players’ schedule.
He also had a sixth sense about when to pull back, and today was the day. It was the first full round of cuts, and every player was on edge.
While my father took care of that, the guys were left with a little more free time before Sunday meal. And then after Sunday meal, they got the night off, with curfew being extended to two a.m.
And tonight I would be meeting Lucas, and we would be doing more than we had been the past few nights.
Lucas and I had met on the bridge each night since deciding we were going to be together. However, during the day it was a bit risky to meet up, and neither of us suggested it, which was why we weren’t together right now.
The past few nights when we met, I felt like I was sitting on a glitter-covered cloud. On that rickety old bridge, the world around us faded away, and it was just the two of us, talking, laughing, kissing.
Lucas and I talked about everything. We had so much in common, more than just football. Our views about life, the universe, and the world. Our favorite basketball teams, foods, and even our mutual love of chocolate ice cream.
We shared our favorite movies, of which his was Rocky, whereas mine would always be Jerry McGuire.
He told me how he thought he would end up playing for the Patriots, and the emotional wall he put up when he ended up playing for the Bears.
We’d also talked about past lovers, his list was much longer than mine, and he left it at that. So did I.
I got off the elevator and looked around.
Since the cheerleaders were arriving today, most of the single guys were hanging out in the common area.
Of course they were.
Kutch was sitting on one of the sofas when I walked by. I had just showered in preparation for Sunday meal and thrown on a dress. This one was a long maxi-dress I had gotten at Top Shop. It had a different black floral pattern on each side and was a wrap. Again, living in Florida had made my wardrobe not only heat tolerant, but easy to wear. Hence the black flip flops I’d chosen for my feet.
My plan was to go to the library and read some trashy magazines to kill the next two hours until dinner.
<
br /> Kutch was hopelessly trying to tape his own ankle. I’d heard Dallas say that during any single season, an athletic trainer would tape more than three thousand ankles.
As I looked at Kutch struggling, I figured I might as well add his to my count. Besides, somehow over the course of the past couple of years, I had become a master at taping. Massage, not so much—that I was still working on.
“Need some help?” I asked over his shoulder.
He glanced up. “Wow,” he said. “Girl, you gotta date or what?”
“Funny,” I answered. “Do you want help or not?”
He nodded. “You’re my saving grace. Hit me.”
With a shake of my head, I circled the couch and sat down. “Let me see,” I said, directing him to move his leg from the coffee table to the sofa.
I set the materials next to me and began to undo what he had tried to do. While I was unwrapping his ankle, a rookie named Sean Juggerson, flopped down next to Kutch with his laptop in his hands.
“Juggs, my man,” Kutch greeted.
The guys called him Juggs because of his last name, or maybe for a different reason, I had no idea.
“Hey,” Juggs said to Kutch, “so this girl on Tinder says her three favorite things are whiskey, beer, and nachos. What should I tell her are my three favorite things?”
“Blowing the barn,” one of the guys yelled from the chair across from us.
“No, I got, it,” said the other guy in the seat beside him. “Porn, playboy, and jerking the turkey.”
Everyone was laughing.
I didn’t really know either guy, but I think they were from the practice squad.
Kutch shook his head in laughter. “No, Juggs, they got it all wrong. You should say balls, balls, balls.” And then he cracked up even more.
I was used to this kind of talk, just like I was used to being treated like I wasn’t even in the room. As the coach’s daughter, the players preferred to interact with me as little as possible. I got it. Most of the time they censored what they said, but sometimes they forgot I was even around.
Like now.
“Fuck all of you,” Juggs said. “This is serious shit here! What if she turns out to the be the one?”
